Please Explain
by EpicInTheLibrary
Summary: Craig is a loser. Sequel to a friend's story. M for concepts/themes and language.


_This is a sequel to one of RyDeNiSlOvE's awesome stories (seriously, go read her stuff), not an original idea. Also, I don't know what was going through my head when I wrote this. I just liked the line where Kenny's like "CRAIGWTFD:" lol_

_Also I'd just like to say that, believe it or not, I actually love reviews, gasp, so please. ;-;_

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Craig's heart thumps rhythmically, refusing him permission to rest or even calm down. He sits rigidly in his desk chair, staring at the blank papers before him, waiting anxiously for him do fill them, him waiting anxiously for something else. He glances at the clock hanging over the doorway to the hallway. 7:18. It's going to be a time to remember.

"Craig!"

He winces as Kenny's voice cuts sharply through the black to reach him, though his lips do lift for some ironic, counterproductive reason. The dread twisting deep in his gut tells him that now is not the time to be smiling, but his sadistic, pessimistic brain assures him that it's more than fine. Clearing his parched throat, he answers as steadily and surely as he can.

"Yeah?" Of course, he didn't miss the irate irritation in the other's voice.

"Why the fuck is there cum in my ass?"

He chuckles mirthlessly, shutting his eyes rather tightly.

"I don't know," he calls back, his tone making it so unintentionally obvious that he knows exactly why the fuck there's cum in Kenny's ass. Which he does.

He hears shuffling and then carpeted footsteps approaching, matching the pace of his heartbeat, every other thump falling into place with each step. Then Kenny's outline is in the doorway, his face and expression of incredulous anger barely visible under the assault of the synthetic yellow glow of Craig's desk lamp. Kenny's arms are folded and his eyebrows are furrowed in such a way that says, "Craig, you better have a good reason for this."

He doesn't.

Chuckling humorlessly again under his breath, Craig turns fully in his seat to face Kenny, hoping to come up with something while he continues to feign innocence.

"I really have no idea." Ridiculously short, and totally the opposite of credible. Kenny's eyes narrow.

"Well, it's not as if _I_ fucked myself while I was dead, is it?" he states clearly, mild poison lacing the edges of his tone. Craig bites his lip to keep himself from laughing so as to prevent the hostility he's sure would ensue if he did. He has no idea why he finds this whole thing funny, but he just _does._ Maybe it's irony.

"No," Craig agrees slowly, as if he's incredibly stupid and can't possibly fathom that concept. In reality, he's trying to come up with something fast. His lips twist up again. "Perhaps a necrophile snuck in through the window and raped you while I was out here working." How he manages to keep a straight face and a steady tone while suggesting this, he does not know.

"Craig!" Kenny shrieks angrily, throwing his hands up into the air, consequently appearing quite comical. Craig increases the pressure on his bottom lip. "This isn't funny! Tell me what really happened!"

Craig sighs as if in defeat and hangs his head, holding clasped hands out while resting his elbows on his thighs. "Okay." His head is down if only to shield his idiotically grinning face from view. "So I decided to take a shower after I realized you were dead... and when I came out..." he pauses dramatically, "Cartman was-"

"Craig, I said this isn't fucking funny!" Kenny shrieks again as Craig bursts into hysterical laughter. "You're just- fucking-" He punctuates his furious stammering with a scream of rage, charging at Craig and knocking him to the floor. Craig is still laughing even as Kenny pins him to the floor with one hand holding his wrists together above his head, the other positioned threateningly at his throat where it connects to his jaw. Craig desperately tries to stifle his cries and is aided by Kenny's hand pushing hard into his neck, effectively smothering them and momentarily cutting off his air supply. He forces himself to calm down, because hey, he might make an incredibly stupid mistake right here!

So. Where is he, again? Oh, right. Pinned underneath Kenny with his trachea partially collapsed. His breath wheezes pathetically as he strains for it, and despite his sudden urge to panic, he wills himself to calm down and is soon lying motionless beneath Kenny, staring back up into his furious eyes solemnly. After a few more moments of silence, save for the whining strain of Craig's damaged breath, Kenny speaks softly, dangerously.

"Now, you want to tell me why the hell you fucked me while I was dead?" He lets off some of the pressure on Craig's throat to allow him to speak, though letting enough remain to remind Craig that at any time he could easily replace it.

"Uh," Craig started, coughing a little, an genuine fear actually latching itself over the pit of his stomach. Fuck, Kenny's taking this seriously. Is it really that big a deal? "Well, I. You know. Hormones and such. You dying right when I was at my horniest." He cautiously lets out a chuckle, hoping to lighten Kenny's mood just a slight bit. Kenny is not amused. He continues to glare down at Craig, waiting. Craig sighs. "Okay. So I was horny and I wanted to fuck something. You were right there, so I figured..." He strains nervously, looking with wide eyes up at Kenny, waiting anxiously for his reaction. Damn, he really fucked up this time. Kenny's eyes narrow even more.

"So basically, you were hard, and had so little control over yourself that you couldn't just wait until I came back?" Craig nods sheepishly, instinctively wanting to avert his gaze but scared shitless about what Kenny might do if he does. Okay, Kenny just made him sound really stupid. Point taken.

Kenny's eyes flicker shut and he sighs heavily, recalling his hand from its place on Craig's throat. Craig takes a deep breath through his nose, but hesitantly, as if Kenny might change his mind at any second. Sure, he thinks _Kenny's_ hot when he's dead, but he much prefers himself very much alive, thank you very much. He swallows nervously, daring not to move unless Kenny makes it absolutely clear he's allowed to.

For all he knows, an hour has passed, but finally Kenny opens his eyes and speaks. "So you're... a necrophile now?"

Craig shuts his eyes once again and exhales the deep breath he took slowly. "Yeah."

Kenny makes a small sound in the back of his mouth with his tongue. "So does that mean you don't want us to have sex anymore...?" he asks softly, unsurely, and, Craig hates to hear, weakly. "I mean, you know..."

"No." Craig answers. Now, if he were a little more sure about that his 'no' might have been a lot stronger. But for now it's just a frail, fragile 'no.' His eyes flicker open to meet Kenny's, hidden by the shadows and glow surrounding his frame, cast by the desk lamp. Craig bites his lip. He's sure that he can still enjoy normal, un-sick, not-freako sex with both partners very much alive, just... God, he really, _really_ enjoyed it with Kenny dead. So much he could get hard just thinking about it. Oh god, _yes..._

But no. Now's not the time for that. Now is... Kenny's feelings. Jesus Christ, he must feel betrayed right now. Like Craig just stabbed him in the back. And who wouldn't? Craig doesn't think he would like it if he died and then found out that some creepy necrophile had used his dead body for their own sick pleasure. He shudders just thinking about it. Okay, so Kenny has a point; a very valid point.

Oh god, now he feels horrible. He makes a mental note: Next time, make sure the dead body you fuck isn't that of someone who's coming back to life later. They probably won't appreciate it or take it as any compliment in the least.

"I'm sorry, Kenny," Craig murmurs sincerely. Kenny brings his hands to his face and kind of massages it, pulling the skin down slightly with his fingers as he slides his hands down to his neck, then places them back at his sides. He keeps his gaze locked straight forward on the wall across from him as he speaks, as if by doing this he'll be convinced that Craig's not really there.

"I don't want my body being used for that kind of stuff," he murmurs quietly, turning his eyes down to find Craig's. Craig bites his lip guiltily, that look saying, "Are we clear?"

He nods solemnly, clasping his teeth hard on his bottom lip in that guilt. God, it's eating at him. He's incredibly conflicted right now- what with his mind wanting to keep his promise to Kenny, but everything else waiting incredibly impatiently for Kenny's next death so he can satisfy his sick, raging desires. He knows his mind is going to lose, but if it's any compensation he feels bad about that. It's just the guilt of lying, he'll easily get over it.

"Okay then." Kenny stands up and starts to leave, throwing, "I'm taking a shower," over his shoulder as he passes through the doorway. Craig is left lying on the floor, slightly aroused from thoughts of the future. He runs over the events that have just taken place. Crisis averted. A lack of progress. Oh well. Craig's conscience isn't very strong or effective, and that simply cannot be helped. There's just one more thing to solve.

How to dispose of the evidence?


End file.
